Sessions: House in Therapy
by smartnsweet1
Summary: Can therapy save House?
1. Session Number Six

Therapist: You look tired…

House: Too much rest…

Therapist: Okay. Why don't we do some work then?

House: (glumly) Peachy.

T: Here's some paper. There's a pencil on the table.

H: (snorts) You going to make me write lines?

T: (chuckles) You're in rehab, not detention. This'll be fun.

H: Oh, goody. Let's do fun.

T: You ready? I want you to make two columns.

H: Ionic or Doric?

T: Huh? No, just draw a line down the middle. That's right.

H: Wow, do I get a gold star?

T: Not yet. Now on the left, I want you to write 'Things I like about me'.

H: How do you spell 'I'…?

T. And on the right, 'Things I don't like about me'.

H: I don't have enough paper…

T: Write small.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

T: Done?

H: And _when _does the fun start exactly…?

T: Go ahead and read me something from the 'like' list.

H: Uh-uh.

T: Pick something light.

H: I can't.

T: Oh… There's _nothing _you like about yourself?

H: Well…I have a crush on my right nipple…

T: Come on, Greg. You're not taking the question seriously.

H: You're not taking my answer seriously.

T: Hm. I suppose not. All right. Let me try a different question. Do you deserve love?

H: Ooh. Nice lob. Yes. When I've paid her. Back at 'ya.

T: For free.

H: (snorts) All together now, 'There's no such thing as unconditional love.'

T: You're right. With one exception.

H: I'm waiting. _'Mommy'_?

T: No. You.

H: (snorts) Me?

T: The only person who can love you unconditionally is you.

H: That ain't happenin'. Look at this column.

T: Yeah. You missed a few things…

H: _Now _I'm having fun…

T: _Now _you're getting homework--

H: Ha. Okay, okay, add 'egotistical'.

T: Nope. You got that column down. (beat) I'm going to give you a baby.

H: (laughs nervously) What?

T: We're meeting again Monday. Until then, you've got a baby. (beat) And his name is Gregory House.

H: Gee, and I thought I was going to get lucky…

T: I think you are. You're going to love that baby like he was never loved before. That's your assignment.

H: Sorry to disappoint you, but my mother adored me.

T: Sorry to disappoint you, but your mother adored an image of herself. So, you've got a job to do to make it up to the kid. (beat) I'm afraid our time is up. See you next week. Greg?…Greg, I have another client, so, uh, if you'll just, uh—

Door slams.


	2. Session Number Seven

Therapist: Well, you look much better today.

House: Haven't slept for days…

Therapist: (chuckles) Okay. (beat) How's baby Gregory doing?

House: (sniffs) I gave him a big warm hug and he suffocated to death.

T: Hm. Still angry.

H: Just give me your diagnosis. You'll be wrong, you know.

T: Mm. All right. Narcissistic Personality Disorder, with co-morbid depression. Some Histrionic and Paranoid traits. Some OCD traits—well, all doctors have that. How'm I doing?

H: (exaggerated) _Histrionic_? _Me_?!

T: (chuckles) (beat) So, all cured now?

H: Funny.

T: Not kidding. There's the diagnoses, I'll give you a list of reading materials, just come back and let me know when you're fine.

H: I'm fine…(snorts)

T: (chuckles) Yeah. Peachy. (beat) You've got the hour.

H: (sound of fingers drumming) (beat) I don't think you're right about my mother.

T: Maybe. I never met her. Except through you.

H: (snorts)

Silence, except for sound of clock ticking.

H: Why…why do you think you can help me?

T: Because you're not alone.

H: Wrong again.

T: Grandiosity talking.

H: Yeah? You get a lot of doctors here?

T: I get a lot of clients who live in black and white. Grandiosity, or the toilet.

H: (chuckles) Whoosh…

T: There_ is_ gray, you know.

H: (beat) Not for me.

T: Not yet. But it's a good goal.

H: Really? See, in my world, you've got life and you've got death. Gray is a vegetative state.

T: But there are other worlds…where gray is a moonlight walk with a dear friend, the wind on your face on a downhill run, a potluck supper at the local homeless shelter, a quiet afternoon reading Jane Austen—okay, watching a monster truck rally…

H: (yawns loudly) Except for the truck rally…

T: Aha. That's a start. Now for your homework…

H: Oh, fuck…

T: Well, you could put that on the list if you want. It's your script. Paint some comfortable grays, and we'll talk about them on Wednesday.

H: (Grunting) These sessions?

T: Mm-hmm?

H: Not on my list.

Sound of door closing.


	3. Session Number Twelve

Therapist: Hi, Greg. (sighs) Come on in.

House: You look terrible…

Therapist: I can't believe it…

House: Sht happens.

T: You okay?

H: (snorts) I don't know. It's tempting sometimes.

T: Oh… How tempting?

H: I had a patient once, a recovering alcoholic. He used to tell me how tired he was, tired of "not drinking today"… how normal people get up every day without having to "not drink". That's all he could think about…

T: Not drinking?

H: Not thinking about not drinking.

T: So he killed himself…

H: (shrugs) BAC was .12. 'Bridge freezes before road surface'…

T: (sighs) Sht happens.

Silence. Sound of clock ticking.

H: Going to the funeral?

T: No. I don't think the family wants to see me.

Silence. Sound of clock ticking.

H: I don't like funerals.

T: Been to many?

H: I only remember one…

T: Who died?

H: (snorts) My family…

T: Hm. You want to go with that?

H: No.

Silence. Sound of clock ticking.

H: I was around four…or five.

T: Mm-hm.

H: I remember my father…he was big. Wearing his sword…

T: And your mother?

H: No…just my father.

Silence. Sound of clock ticking.

H: I don't remember being sad…my toy box was bigger…

T: Bigger than what?

H: Her casket.

T: Mm? Not your mother?

H: No. I think she was still in the hospital…I didn't see her for a few weeks…or more…

Silence. Sound of clock ticking.

T: Who was she?

H: I don't think they ever gave her a name. At least I didn't know it…

T: How old…?

H: I don't know. They never talked about her…ever again. I don't think it could've been more than a few hours—don't erase that!

T: I was just going to change--

H: No, leave it!

T: Okay. Only child. Your parents never tried to have another baby?

H: Not that I know of. I think they did a hysterectomy.

T: Oh. I'm, uh, sorry.

H: So was she.

T: Well, it wasn't her fault.

H: Everything is somebody's fault. Except for my father. (sarcastically) He was always perfect.

T: He blamed her?

H: For everything. Including me.

T: That you weren't perfect.

H: That I wasn't him. That I could never ever be.

Silence. Sound of clock ticking.

T: Kleenex?

H: No. But I do need a smoke. Isn't our time up?

T: Almost. You going to be okay?

H: I don't know…

Sound of door closing.


	4. Session Number Fourteen

House: Hey.

Therapist: Hey.

Silence, except for sound of clock ticking.

Therapist: How'd it go?

House: Better than I expected.

Therapist: Did she bring, uh, the husband?

House: No. (beat) He's walking again.

Therapist: That's good. Isn't it?

House: Yeah… Fucking German engineering…

Therapist: (chuckles) So he's still there?

House: Yeah… She said about 3 more months.

Therapist: Maybe _you_ should look—

House: No!

Therapist: Okay. Just a thought. So, uh, what'd you all talk about?

House: (snorts)

Therapist: Besides you.

House: She thinks we should sue the bastard.

Therapist: Do you want to?

House: (sighs) Sometimes…

Therapist: But?

House: Look, I've been here, what, four weeks?

Therapist: Three and a half.

House: Okay. Three weeks, four days, and five fucking hours. Anyway, I'm now only addicted to cancer sticks.

Therapist: Okay…

House: I don't need another jones.

Therapist: So, you're worried that you—

House: Hell yes!

Therapist: You _could_ set some boundaries.

House: (snorts)

Therapist: No…I guess not. So, how d'you leave it?

House: We'll meet for tea and scones every afternoon at four.

Therapist: Hm. You going to see her again?

House: She's leaving for Frankfurt…uh, last night.

Therapist: Mm.

Silence, except for sound of clock ticking.

House: (chuckles) "I have lost the one I love. I must now live in this terrible solitude where memory is torture."

Therapist: Keats?

House: Camus.

Therapist: Pardonnez moi, M. Meursault. (beat) You don't seem to be crying.

House: (chuckles) It's only _my_ funeral.. (beat) Did you know that Camus died in a car accident?

Therapist: Oh? That's too bad.

House: He had a train ticket in his pocket. If he'd taken the train, he'd still be—(chuckles) well, by now he'd still be dead.

Therapist: Okay… Your point…?

House: My Dad fought in Korea…

Therapist: (nods) Yes, you told me.

House: During deployment, they used to go around writing this phrase, "Kilroy was here".

Therapist: Yeah, I've heard of it. Kind of a joke.

House: No. I don't think so. Remember in Catcher in the Rye, where Holden says you couldn't get rid of all the 'Fuck you's written on Earth in a million years?

Therapist: Uh, maybe...

House: Well, that's the point. 'Kilroy' is a 'fuck you' to God.

Therapist: Oh.

Silence, except for the effing clock.

Therapist: So you think 'Kilroy was here' is a testament of existence. What I don't get is what that has to do with Stacy.

House: Forty years later, Kilroy is dead. Camus is dead.

Therapist: J.D. Salinger is still alive. I think…

House: (shrugs) What matters is that _I_ am alive. Not forever, maybe not even for long, but for now. For now, I don't need her—anyone--anymore. (brightly) Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you. (sound of door opening) Greg was here.

Sound of door closing.

Chart note: Session #14. A little hypomanic, but—good—loving the baby.


	5. Session Number Sixteen

Session #16

Sound of clock ticking.

House: You first.

Therapist: You a Harry Potter fan?

H: (nervous chuckle) Not really…

T: That's good. We fired him.

H: (muffled gasp) Uh…who…?

T: You're welcome to stay.

H: Wh—what do you mean?

T: Or not. Up to you.

H: (pause) The judge…

T: I can sign off on the release.

H: Oh. (pause) I can just…go?

T: Yup.

Sound of clock ticking.

H: I um…I…Well, fine.

T: All right. I'll bring the paperwork by this afternoon. (beat) Just do me a favor.

The therapist scribbles something on a scrap of paper, and hands it to House.

H: What's this?

T: Howard is the best pain man at Hopkins. Just tell him I told you to call.

H: (quietly) That's a long way to go…

T: Yeah. But maybe tomorrow…

H: (snorts) Yeah… Thanks.

House stands up and puts the paper in his pocket.

H: See you around…?

T: Up to you. Good-bye, Greg.

H: Look, I'm, uh…

T: I know. Just close the door.

H: (pause) I uh…yeah, thanks.

Sound of clock ticking. Finally, sound of door closing.

T: You're welcome.

Clinical note: Case closed. For now.


	6. The Last Meeting

Therapist: I see you're all packed.

House: Waitin' for my passport.

T: (chuckle) Just a couple of signatures. Need a pen?

H: Thanks. Voldemort didn't trust me to keep one.

T: (sighs) I'm sorry. (pause) It was _our_ fault…

H: (shrugs) It was his job.

T: No, I mean…

H: Oh. (pause, nervous chuckle) Should'a paid him more.

T: You'd been doing so well…

H: I am. This one, too?

T: Yes. Right there. (pause) Um…

H: Okay. I'm sprung now?

T: (sighs) You can go. But—

H: (joking) I'd better keep walking…

T: I'm sorry…

H: I can't run with this leg, you know…

T: You don't need to run. It was my fault.

H: (with irony) _You_ ordered the surgery?

T: Greg. (pause) I didn't do my job. Not with Voldemort. Not with—-_for_--you.

H: (quietly) I'm fine.

T: (sighs) If you want…you can come see me...outpatient...just call…

H: Maybe I'll even take the stairs. (pause) That was a joke.

T: (softly) You know what the odds are in my business?

H: For...?

T: Success.

H: About 60 remission, 20 relapse, I think...

T: I forgot. And I'm supposed to remember. I blew it.

H: Well, don't feel so bad. I'm still alive and kicking. Well, alive, anyway…

T: Back when I was a resident, had a brilliant patient, art student. Borderline personality, alcoholic, husband had her children taken away. Got herself pregnant again with somebody else and had the baby. Came to me wanting me to keep DCS from taking him, too. Said she was fine, this one she could handle. She loved that kid, and, by God, she was gonna stay clean. Three months later, 30 miles outside of Charlotte, they found the bodies. (pause) I don't want to see...any more...

H: Lucky you're not an Internist. (chuckles) I'll keep the bodies off your floor.

T: (sighs) You do have my number...

H: (taps his leg with his cane) Right here. I won't forget.

Sound of door closing. Sound of bedsprings creaking as the therapist sits on the bed and stares off at the closed door.


End file.
